Free Connected by Simon Denman Page A

moved to another room where he was able to lie quietly while the
headache subsided. He texted Dean to let him know he wouldn’t be ready for
another couple of hours and then settled down for a nap.
    He was finally awoken by the Doctor and examined
again.
“Okay, I think it’s safe enough to let you go home now, but if you experience
any further disorientation, nausea, headaches or any other problems at all,
then call this number and get yourself back here at once.”
Doug thanked him and wandered out to the reception, where Dean was busy
chatting up the nurse.
“Still alive then?” said Dean, looking round. “Come on then you clumsy oaf.
Let’s get you back to campus.”

CHAPTER 5
    The “Fox and Hounds” was an old-style, spit-and-sawdust
country pub, ten minutes walk from The Fields on the way to the village. The
clientele, a mixture of farm-worker and country gent, chatted and drank while
some hit from the seventies rattled from an old jukebox. Some were playing
cribbage, others bridge, and a strong sense of community could be felt among
them. Peter once again thought how different things were up here - different in
a good way. It took a while before he realised what else was missing; the
incessant buzzing, whistling and pinging of fruit machines that had invaded so many of the pubs down south, were pleasantly absent.
    Roger was sitting in the far corner, nursing an
empty glass and looking expectantly at the door. When he saw Peter, he sprang
to his feet and ordered two pints from the bar. “So how are you getting on with
the den?” he asked.
“Pretty well, thanks,” replied Peter, wondering whether to mention the audio
files. “Just routine correspondence mostly,” he added, deciding to hold out
until he understood what he was dealing with.
Roger nodded absently. “It must be a big help for Isabelle, having you there.”
“I hope so.”
“She’s an extraordinary woman, Isabelle, isn’t she? Incredible knowledge of the
classics … and quite a theologian too.”
Peter nodded hesitantly, an uncomfortable silence ensuing, in which they both
took large swigs from their glasses.
“Beautiful day today!” exclaimed Roger. “Did you manage to get out at all, or
was it all work?”
Peter smiled. When all else fails, talk about the weather. “Yes, glorious!
Isabelle and I went for a stroll down to the post office this afternoon. The
scenery around here is quite stunning isn’t it? How long have you lived in
these parts?”
Roger explained how he’d moved into the parish four years earlier, after
graduating from theological college. Peter was initially surprised, the curate being
at least in his mid-thirties - too old to have graduated so recently. He then
remembered the change of career from research chemist to clergyman.
    Quite out of the blue, Roger asked, “So Peter,
what made you lose your faith?”
The directness unnerved him. “Is it that obvious?”
Roger nodded with a grin.
“To be perfectly honest, what I had before was not so much faith I think, but
acceptance. From as early as I can remember, we had always been taught that God
existed and for the most part, I never much bothered to question it. But as I
learned more about science and natural history, the role of God as creator had
to be constantly adjusted. I suppose the crux came around the time I was doing
my A-levels, and I happened to read Richard Dawkins’ ‘Blind Watchmaker’. I
already thought I understood evolution by natural selection, but somehow the
world around me had seemed just too remarkable not to have required occasional moments
of divine intervention. Dawkins’s book dispelled these doubts completely.”
“I’ve read some of his other stuff,” said Roger. “They’re very persuasive. For
the most part I actually agree with what he says.”
“So you’re happy to consign God to the sidelines and let natural selection
account for all life on Earth?”
“Not the sidelines exactly. I believe He plays an active role, but